


Light Me On Fire, Just To Put Me Out

by Ode_to_ships



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: A LOT of Angst, Abusive Relationships, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Not trying to scare y'all just trying to warn y'all, Stydia, Teen Wolf, and SMUT, but there is also fluff, mentions of abuse, please be aware of that, this is angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 07:15:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10714770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ode_to_ships/pseuds/Ode_to_ships
Summary: “I was never really good at math,” he admits.“That’s the other thing. Math will be ruthless. It won’t let you mess up. It keeps you honest. It’s poetic. And it’s sanity. I need some of that,” and it’s a heavy statement, but the gleam is still in her eyes, “It’s how I win. It’s how I keep control. It’s how I breathe.”Stiles, by this point, is in awe. Because only Lydia Martin could take math and make it sound beautiful.





	Light Me On Fire, Just To Put Me Out

**Author's Note:**

> *PLEASE READ FIRST*
> 
> Hi guys! So if you're reading this, I just need to warn you that this is a fic about an abusive relationship. It's not as heavy as you might think, but there are mentions of beatings, and bruises, and I don't want you reading if this is going to trigger you or make you feel uncomfortable. I hope I did this justice because this is an important topic. I love this fic, and I want to thank loverofthelight24 (aka stilesprefers-screamers) because she beta'd and she's just generally a fantastic person.
> 
> Enjoy!

He hates clubs. He really, really hates them, and he’s really, really pissed that he let Scott talk him into going to one. Honestly, Scott doesn’t like clubs either so he has no idea why on Earth they’re walking into one.

It’s probably because of the waitress Scott met at their favorite bar the other day. Kira, was her name, and Scott hasn’t shut up about her. Normally Stiles is more supportive, but he’s been single for a year now, and Scott keeps casually dating, and Stiles just isn't. And he’s in a crowded club, listening to shitty EDM music, when he could be at home staring at a wall and having more fun, all because Kira told Scott to meet up with her tonight. For whatever reason, Scott couldn’t go alone.

So here they are, one is probably getting laid tonight, and the other is going to sit in a corner and sip fruity alcoholic drinks all night. Stiles is not getting laid.

They head to the bar, where Kira said she’d be waiting.

“So remind me again why you couldn’t come alone?” Stiles shouts over the music, hoping Scott hears him.

“Because you spend too much time in your room, and I need a wingman!” Scott shouts back.

They reach the bar, and Stiles is still fuming.

“I am a terrible wingman, and you know it!”

Scott just smiles at him, and talks to the bartender so low that Stiles can’t hear him. He’s just wondering how Scott and the bartender are actually having a conversation over the music.

The bartender smiles and walks down the bar, and starts preparing drinks.

“I got the first round,” Scott shouts in his ear, “And yes, it’s a fruity drink!” He says just as Stiles opens his mouth to verify that very fact.

He grumbles angrily, but starts sipping the drink the bartender had just placed down in front of him, trying to look thoroughly annoyed, but goddamn the drink is good. Scott just keeps on smiling. Stiles is going to punch him in his face.

They’re having a staring showdown, when Scott’s expression suddenly lights up even more than before, and Stiles turns to see a very pretty girl, with long black hair, wearing black jeans and high heels, and a tank top that doesn’t leave a whole lot to the imagination, but just enough. She looks like she’s either Japanese or Korean, or both. Stiles has to give it to Scott; she’s beautiful, and definitely worth venturing out for. But he still doesn’t understand why he has to be here.

But then he gaze shifts to just behind Kira, and he sees the girl walking close behind her, and he freezes. That’s Lydia Martin.  _Holy shit._

Lydia Martin is in a club in downtown Boston, and she’s fucking beautiful. He hasn’t seen her since high school, and now, after having graduated George Washington and moving to Boston, this is the last place he’d expect to see her. And then he remembers that she’s a fucking genius, and MIT is in Boston.

His luck is so weird.

Kira and Lydia finally reach the boys, and Stiles, in a non-discreet manner, slides the remainder of his fruity drink away from him, down the bar.

“Hey you made it!” He hears Scott shout to Kira.

“I was about to say the same to you!” She shouts back, and then turns towards Lydia, “This is my friend, Lydia!” Stiles sees the recognition cross Scott’s face.

Lydia smiles at him, and sticks out her hand. Scott takes it and they shake hands, which strikes Stiles as odd, because who the fuck shakes hands these days?

“Scott McCall. I remember you from high school back in Beacon Hills. Small world.” Stiles is just sitting off to the side, dumbfounded at the whole situation.

“I thought you looked familiar walking in. Nice to see you again, Lydia.” Scott then looks at Stiles. “You remember Stiles?” And okay, Stiles shouldn’t be this nervous. He stands up and moves to shake hands with Kira, and then he finally looks at Lydia, who is raking her eyes over him no less.

“Stiles Stilinski,” she says and holds out her hand to him, which he takes because apparently everyone is shaking hands, “I seem to remember you had a crush on me throughout high school,” She smirks, taking him completely off guard, just as she always has.

“I’m surprised you remember that. Or me, in any capacity, at all,” He sputters, and _jesus_  he’s definitely positive he’s not getting laid tonight (or maybe ever).

“It’s hard to forget the kid that stared at the back of your head in four different classes.” She’s still smirking, and his mouth is literally hanging open. He looks over at Scott, but he’s wrapped up in a conversation with Kira, so Stiles is on his own here.

“Okay I didn’t stare, jesus. You were just a lot more interesting than listening to Harris talk about how much he hated me. Not my favorite topic,” he says with a shrug.

“Mhmm, _sure_.”

She continues smiling at him, and he’s about to lose his cool because her smile is killer, when thankfully she saves him. “Hey, there's a room towards the back that’s a little quieter. You wanna move in that direction?” She leans in close so she doesn’t have to scream as loud.

His eyebrows shoot upwards, and he's about to say a really stupid line about how she's propositioning him, (goddamn, how much alcohol was in that drink?) when she moves and leans in towards Kira. She nods, and Stiles assumes that all four of them are now going to head into the “quiet room”. Stiles is actually relieved because if Lydia doesn’t stop smiling like she is, he isn’t going to stop staring like _he_  is.

The girls start moving in the direction of the back of the club. Scott takes a moment to raise his eyebrows at Stiles, and Stiles shakes his head because he knows what Scott is thinking and yeah okay, he’s glad he came out, but he isn't going to tell Scott that.

\-----------------------------

  
The next morning is a haze of throwing up, and indescribable pain coming from Stiles’ entire head. Turns out fruity drinks mixed with tequila shots mixed with 10 beers, does not make a good combination. Someone should’ve told him that last night. Speaking of that someone…

Scott comes barreling into the bathroom, hands over his mouth like a five year old, and it’s all Stiles can do to move before Scott starts retching into the toilet.

“That’s it buddy. Let it all out. Let it flow,” Stiles says from the bathroom floor where he’s currently lying because he can’t get up without the room spinning.

“Dude,” Scott groans. “If you’re going to scream, leave the apartment,”

“I’m whispering,” Stiles whispers, and _ouch_.

“I hate you so much. Stop talking. It’s making the gnomes in my head angry,” Scott groans again.

“Your lightweight ass is still drunk, isn’t it?”

Scott just grumbles, an incoherent string of sounds emitting from his mouth.

There’s a vibration coming from somewhere in Stiles’ butt region. It takes him a few minutes before he figures out that it’s actually his cell phone in his back pocket.

He reaches around himself, twisting into a much more uncomfortable position than if he had just sat up and reached for it, but whatever. When he finally gets it out of his pocket, and looks at the message, he’s feeling nauseous again. The screen is blindingly bright, and whoever it is can wait for his reply while he throws up.

Once he finishes, he returns to his spot on the bathroom floor. Scott hasn’t moved either. He takes another look at his phone.

***Lydia Martin: iMessage***

When the hell did he get Lydia’s number?

He opens the message.

 **Lydia** : Ten bucks says you’re currently laying on your bathroom floor. 20 says I am also laying on my bathroom floor.

 **Stiles** : At least you have the floor all to yourself. I am currently sharing mine with Scott.

 **Lydia** : People who encourage others to take 5 shots of tequila should not be allowed on nice cool bathroom floors.

 **Stiles** : 5?! No wonder I feel like I'm on the brink of death.

 **Lydia** : Remind me to never drink with Scott ever again.

 **Stiles** : Uh no. If I have to continue on the journey of awesome hangovers, I am taking you with me.

They continue on like that for the rest of the day. Eventually Stiles makes it out of the bathroom, and even manages to ingest some food. Scott remains in the bathroom until 4:30 when he half crawls out of the bathroom, and goes into his room. Stiles doesn’t see him until 10am the next morning. He doesn’t stop talking to Lydia.

It becomes an easy routine, falling into Lydia. He wakes up and texts her, goes to bed and texts her. He texts her when his shoelace breaks when in a rush one morning, and how he effectively punches himself in the face.

He texts her when Scott beats him at Modern Warfare for the upteenth time, telling her how she needs to yell at Scott about sore winning. Scott never shuts up about winning.

He texts her about his job, and how he can’t find a middle ground with his boss, when it comes to cases that he isn’t supposed to be talking about, but tells her about anyway.

He texts her everything, and right as they’re going on week 4 of constantly talking, he realizes that she _never_ talks about her life, at least not in detail. She doesn’t talk about work or friends or school. And though he’s asked her to hang out a few times, she’s always said no. He was never thrown by that, until this realization. He’d always just thought she was busy.

He asks her one day, about her life in general, she replies with a simple “good”. He has no idea what to do with that so he tells her he kind of feels like an asshole because they only ever talk about him.

She says she doesn’t mind, and he doesn’t know if he should feel as flattered by that as he does.

They just continue on as normal.

\------------------------------

It’s only a week later that it happens for the first time. He gets a call at 3:30 in the morning, and is torn between throwing his phone across the room, and answering it to give whoever is calling a piece of his mind.

He decides on the latter, but when he picks up his phone to do so, the anger dies because it’s Lydia calling. Lydia has never called him. Not once. And Stiles is suddenly really sure that this is going to be a really bad phone call.

“Lydia?”

No answer, but he can hear her breathing on the other side.

“Lydia what’s wrong?”

It takes her a few seconds before she chokes out, “Stiles?” And it hits him like a punch to his stomach, that she’s crying.

“Yeah, it’s me. What happened? Are you okay?” He asks in a rush, trying to keep his voice down so as not to wake Scott with his panic.

“Can you please come and get me?” She asks quietly, like she’s trying not to wake someone up.

“Lydia, what’s going on?” His voice is a little louder now, because panic is starting to set in.

“Stiles please just come and get me? _Please?_ ” She’s begging him and it tears through him.

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Hold on Lydia, I’m on my way. Where are you?” He's trying to keep his voice calm because he doesn’t want to add to her stress.

“I’ll text you the address,” And then she hangs up.

It’s sudden and abrupt, and he can feel a panic attack edging into his system, mainly because it’s 3:35 now and he was dead asleep 5 minutes ago before being woken up and begged to go rescue a girl he’s been talking to via text for 4 and 1/2 weeks.

He doesn’t bother getting dressed, just runs out the door in his sweats and a t-shirt once she’s texts him where to go.

  
The entire way to the mysterious address, Stiles is running over every possible option that could possibly be at play, and he comes up short with any viable reason for Lydia to be calling him crying this late.

Nothing even comes close to what he sees when he arrives.

She’s sitting on the curb outside an apartment building that’s way too shitty to be hers. This part of town is generally not great, and now he feels even worse having not driven faster. In his haste, however, he didn’t bother to check where he was headed, he was just trying to get there as fast as possible.

He throws himself out the car, and runs over to her hunched form. She’s shivering a little so she’s been out here for awhile.

“Lydia?” He says softly. She jumps anyway.

“Stiles? Oh fuck. Thank god. I am so sorry I called.. I.. I didn’t know what else- Fuck, I’m so _sorry_ ,” she’s choking all this out around the tears that are streaming down her face at a steady pace.

“Hey no, no. Don’t be sorry. Please don’t be sorry,” he murmurs as he sits next to her. He wraps an arm around her, and notices her slight flinch before she relaxes into his side. They sit for a second so she can catch her breath, and then he says, “Lydia come on. We have to get inside, or at least in the car.”

She nods mutely. He helps her up and they make their way into the car. Once they’re both settled, he turns to her, question ready on his lips.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Just.. can you take me to your place?” She whimpers, and he just nods.

And that’s that.

Until it’s not.

This pattern continues for 2 more months. Each time, Stiles goes and picks Lydia up in front of the same shitty building, and each time she tells him she doesn’t want to talk about. They go to his place, they sleep.

The first time he had slept on the couch. The second time on the floor in his room because he had heard her tossing and turning. So he snuck in, and murmured to her till she fell asleep. He slept on the floor just in case. The third time, she insisted on him sleeping in his own bed.

So now they’re here, two months later, and she’s asleep next to him. He knows he should push her for information because at this point, he’s a little terrified that something horrible is happening.

Her phone lights up. He had forgotten she had left it on his nightstand when usually she has it tucked under her chin. She must’ve forgotten. She was completely drained this time when he picked her up, and had immediately fallen into his bed, after setting her stuff down on his bedside table.

Her phone lights up again, and again, and again. Stiles finally picks it up because who in the hell is texting her this late?

***Brody Anderson: iMessage(5)***

And they keep racking up and up until the message count reaches 32 messages. And Stiles, being the smart guy that he is, figures it must be her boyfriend wondering where she was.

The boyfriend she’s never mentioned. And that’s a bad sign. He doesn’t want to overthink this. He doesn’t want to assume anything based on this, but Stiles has always over thought _everything_. This is no different.

He sighs, getting up because he isn’t going to be sleeping tonight at all. So he climbs out of bed, pads into the living room, turns on the tv, and settles in.

2 hours, and one really awful Lifetime movie later, he hears Lydia padding out into the living room. She sits down next to him, not touching him, and he’s guessing she figured out that he had seen her phone.

“Did you see?” She asks, quietly.

“Yeah,” he states.

“Stiles..” she starts.

“Lydia I’m trying really fucking hard to keep my cool. I’ve been trying so hard to do so throughout the last 2 months. But I have no fucking idea what’s going on. You call me at 3:30 and I pick you up, and I haven’t asked because I figured you’d tell me eventually. But Brody? 32 texts? I mean, jesus Lydia…” He runs a hands through his hair.

“Brody is my boyfriend.”

“I figured as much,” he looks over at her pointedly, “Why are you here if you have a boyfrie-?” He stops short because a few things start to click into place. That and Lydia has started sniffing like she’s right on the edge of crying.

“No..” he breathes, “No Lydia. Tell me that he isn’t hurting you...” he pleads.

She just shrugs.

“Why haven’t you told anyone? How long has this been going on? Why haven’t you left?! Are you walking to that apartment in the middle of the night?” he spouts in rapid succession.

“It’s complicated, Stiles,” is all she offers.

“It’s absolutely not complicated! He’s hurting you, you leave,” He’s exasperated. How can she not understand this?

“Stiles,” she says sharply, “It’s complicated. Brody and I… we’ve been together since the summer before college. He was… God, he was everything to me. He still is. I can’t just leave him. He’s part of me, of my life,” She says like he’s supposed to understand.

“Then why are you here?” He blurts, and it comes out harsh and wrong.

Her face crumples, and he feels like he just broken something between them that she relied on heavily.

“I just.. when he gets... rough, I just need somewhere to go. I thought I could come here. I’ll stop if you want,” she sighs.

“Will I lose you?”

She shakes her head, “No Stiles, no. I’m not… I’m not using you as a lifeline. I trust you. I feel… safe with you,” she says like a secret. And he realizes that’s probably the first time she’s been able to say those words to another human being in a very long time.

The thought breaks his heart.

“You can use me as your lifeline, and as your friend,” He whispers because it’s true. “I’ll be here every time,” He holds out his arm, and she folds herself into him. And they sit like that for awhile, and then eventually head back to his room to sleep.

All the while Stiles is thinking about how this is dangerous. He’s laying himself out on a line he knows nothing about. He’s offering to be her support system through an abusive relationship, and he isn’t sure that it’s a good idea. Doesn’t know how much damage is going to come from this. Doesn’t have any idea how to save Lydia from this, especially since she doesn’t sound like she wants to be saved.

They sit there in silence, and Stiles knows, he just _knows_  he's going to fall in love with her. He’s been halfway there since the night at the bar. And he thinks that loving her is seven different kinds of fucked up. But he isn’t sure he’s going to be able to stop himself.

So instead, he just holds her.

\----------------------------

The next time Stiles has to pick Lydia up, Scott and Kira are with him. They’re out at a bar, and his phone starts buzzing. It’s only 12:30 am, which is why he’s puzzled when he picks up his phone and sees that it’s Lydia.

He answers immediately.

“Lydia?” He says, louder than normal because the music is kind of loud.

“Stiles? Oh shit,” she hiccups, “Are you out? Fuck, I’m sorry. I should let you go.” She’s slurring, and his heart is pounding because she’s drunk. And this is a new turn of events.

“Lydia what happened? Where are you?” He asks urgently.

“I’m out. Just walking around. The air feels soooo good,” she giggles.

“Tell me where you are? Please?” His voice has taken on a pleading edge, and Scott and Kira are looking at him with alarm. He ignores them.

“Come find me, Stiles,” she says, suddenly somber, and then hangs up the phone.

“Lydia? Lydia! Goddamnit,” He swears. He throws down a $20, not even caring about change, and starts heading for the door.

“Stiles! Dude? What the hell is going on? “ Scott shouts as he’s moving, trying to catch up to Stiles.

“I gotta go get Lydia!” Stiles shouts over his shoulder.

Scott catches up, dragging Kira along behind him. “Stiles, what the hell is going on?” Scott demands.

“Lydia is drunk and wandering around, and I have to go find her before he does,” Stiles says, frantic. The three of them burst through the door of the bar, and Stiles heads for his car.

“Stiles, _slow down_. Think for a second. We’ve been drinking, and we don’t know where she is. And who are you worried about finding her first?” Kira speaks up.

Stiles huffs out an aggravated sigh. “I’m fine to drive. I’ll find her, and Brody. I have to find her before Brody does. So either get in the car, or stay here. I’m going,” He half shouts because how can they not understand what’s at stake here?

It’s a belated realization that Stiles have never told Scott what’s going on with Lydia, mainly because he doesn’t think Lydia would want anyone else to know.

He’s staring at Scott, and finally, Scott nods and they all climb into the car.

  
They drive around for an hour and a half before realizing that they aren’t going to find Lydia. Stiles is practically shaking with how fucking terrified he is.

But they pull up to his and Scott’s apartment building, and there she is. Just sitting on the stairs outside.

Stiles practically sobs with relief. He gets out of the car so fast, he doesn’t even close the driver side door. He runs over to her, and scoops her up. She lets him, which isn’t a good sign.

He trusts Scott to take care of the car, and just heads up to the apartment to put Lydia to bed. She’s still in his arms, though he can feel her breathing. He’s on the edge of tears because fucking hell. What is this guy doing to her? His Lydia. The girl that has the smartest mouth and prettiest eyes he’s ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

He finally gets up to the apartment, unlocks the door in a feat that would be super fucking impressive if it wasn’t for the beaten down girl in his arms.

When he finally gets into the apartment, Lydia is starting to wake up again. Stiles exhales the breath that he’d been holding since she called him at the bar.

“Stiles?” She murmurs into his chest.

“Shh, pretty girl. It’s okay. You’re safe,” He whispers because he’s actually choking on his tears now. They’re thick in his throat, and if he doesn’t whisper he’s going to break down. And he can’t.

“Stiles I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry,” She chokes out.

“No Lydia, please don’t,” he tries, and the tears come anyway, “Don’t be sorry.”

“I am. I’m a fucking wreck and you pick me up. I don’t know how to say thank you. Or how to tell you that you should just let me go. And I’m really fucking selfish because I don’t... I don’t want you to let me go,” She’s sobbing now, and he doesn’t say anything. Just moves them into his room, and lays her down on the bed.

He removes her shoes, and covers her up with his comforter before getting undressed himself and climbing into bed. He hears Scott and Kira coming into the apartment. He knows he’s going to have to talk to Scott at some point. But not tonight.

He climbs into his bed, but she doesn’t move closer to him. He knows she thinks she shouldn't.

“Stiles please say something...”

“I’m going to pick you up. I just am,” It’s all he can manage.

“I don’t love him anymore,” She whispers, and it’s small.

He turns to look at her, and he can feels himself swelling with a hope he knows he has to crush. “No?”

“No. I don’t think I’ve really loved him for a long time.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“You,” she says, and then she’s closing her eyes to sleep.

He doesn’t latch onto that word. He doesn’t hold it close to his heart. It doesn’t reach the darkest parts of him. It’s doesn’t give him hope. It can’t. He won’t let it. But he grabs her around her waist anyway, and pulls her to him.

He falls asleep clinging to it:  _"You."_

  
The next morning comes, and Stiles is awake before Lydia. He slides out of bed, careful not to wake her. She sighs happily in her sleep, like she feels safe. Not for the first time, Stiles is ready to kill Brody.

He wanders out to the living room, where Scott is sitting with coffee and his phone. Stiles waves sleepily, heading for the kitchen to grab coffee of his own.

When he does, he heads into the living room to sit. He’s waiting for Scott to ask, but he won’t. So Stiles speaks up first.

“You gonna ask?” He inquires.

Scott shrugs, “I want to know. Absolutely. I’ve never seen you like that. But I also don’t think this is just about you, and I don’t know if Lydia is cool with me knowing.”

“I don’t know if she would be either, but I have to talk about it, Scott. It’s… tearing me up, and I can’t keep going not talking about it. And I’m sorry. For what I’m about to put on you,” Stiles says, leaning forward to put his coffee on the table, and his elbows on his knees.

“Alright...” Scott says warily.

It takes Stiles a second to work up the courage to tell Scott. But finally he sighs and starts.

“Lydia is in a relationship with a guy named Brody Anderson. And he beats her. Not in any visible places, and not quite as bad as I had originally thought when she first told me, but he hits her. She called me one night about 2 and ½ a half months back, and asked me to pick her up. I did. She was fucking shaking, and she flinched when I went to put my arm around her. I had no idea what was going on until two weeks ago. She finally told me. So last night, she got drunk, and left their apartment, I don’t know why yet. I haven’t had a chance to ask her. But that’s why I was freaking out because if Brody found her first, she would've.. he would’ve… I just.. I couldn’t let that happen,” Stiles quiets, and can’t quite look at Scott.

“Jesus, dude. That’s heavy. And she hasn’t gone to the police? Or told anyone else?”

Stiles shakes his head.

“I don’t know what to say,” Scott says meekly.

“You don’t have to say anything. There isn’t anything you can say. I’ve thought about this from every angle. Until she wants to leave him, this is the deal.”

“And you pick her up every time she calls?”

“Yeah. Every time.”

Scott is quiet for a long time, and Stiles finally looks at him. There’s something written across his face, and Stiles just wants him to say it.

“Just say it, Scott.”

“Are you going to pick her up for the rest of your life?” Scott asks, direct.

“I’m hoping I won’t have to. I’m hoping she’ll leave him. She told me last night that she doesn’t love him anymore.”

“But if she doesn’t leave, are you willing to pick her up every time for the rest of your life?” Scott asks, again. More forcefully this time.

“Yes,” he says it without thinking. He’s surprised to find how true that feels. He ignores the niggling in the back of his mind that’s telling him he can’t do this forever.

“That’s a heavy promise.”

“I have to, Scott.”

“You could just go to the police,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“No. I can’t. She doesn’t want that. And unless she’s willing to press charges and testify, which she isn’t, they can’t do anything without witnesses,” Stiles says, frustrated.

“Have you asked her if she wants to go to the police?”

That stops Stiles. He hasn’t. He'd only asked why she hadn’t told anyone. He directly connected that to her not wanting to tell anyone. Fuck.

Scott gets up and goes into his room, probably to cuddle Kira. So Stiles heads back into his, where Lydia is awake and staring at his ceiling.

“Hey, you’re awake,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

He sits on his bed, “Talk to me Lydia. What happened?”

“Life just got to be too much. I can usually handle it, and since you’ve come around, it’s been better. But last night I just wanted to go numb for awhile, so I drank. Brody wasn’t home. He’s out of town till next week, so I drank his good stuff. The stuff he likes to get drunk on before he hits me. It felt weird drinking that stuff. Knowing it was going to make me numb, when it’s usually used to fuel violence against me. But it worked. And I just wanted to see you,” she looks at him, “I always want to see you,” She whispers.

Stiles feels relief, mainly because Brody isn’t in town and so Lydia isn’t in danger right now, or last night, or until next week when he comes back. But Stiles will focus on that later. Right now:

“Lydia do you want to go to the police?” He asks.

She sits up quickly, panic in her eyes. “What?”

“Hey,” he says soothingly, “I’m not going to force you. I’m asking you if that’s something _you_ want.”

“Not yet. I will. I promise, Stiles. I will,” he says, frantic.

“Okay,” he says because he doesn’t want to scare her more, and he knows pushing her isn’t going to make this better.

“I don’t love him anymore,” she murmurs, looking at her hands.

“You told me last night.”

“I need you to know that. I need you to know that I don’t love him okay?” And it sounds a lot like the rest of that sentence is, _"because I love you",_  but she doesn’t say that.

“I believe you,” he murmurs back. He doesn’t ask her why she won’t leave him if she doesn’t love him.

They sit there for a few more minutes before Stiles decides that they are not going to start the day this way.

“Tell me about your job.”

“What?” She lifts her head so she can look at him.

“Tell me about your job, or your hobbies, or your passions. Tell me something,” he insists.

A shy smiles breaks out on her face, “I really love math,” she says conspiratorially, like it’s a big secret.

“Math?”

“Yeah. All math. Any kind of math you can think of, I love it,” she’s sitting up straighter, and there’s a gleam in her eyes he hadn’t seen before.

“Tell me more.”

“There isn’t much to say. Math is really beautiful. Most people don’t see it that way, and I don’t get why. It’s all structure, and logic. But everything fits. Everything. There’s a place for letters, and expansions of universes. The whole universe exists inside of math,” she’s motioning with her hands, and Stiles is taking all of it in, amazed at this lively girl.

“I was never really good at math,” he admits.

“That’s the other thing. Math will be ruthless. It won’t let you mess up. It keeps you honest. It’s poetic. And it’s sanity. I need some of that,” and it’s a heavy statement, but the gleam is still in her eyes, “It’s how I win. It’s how I keep control. It’s how I breathe.”

Stiles, by this point, is in awe. Because only Lydia Martin could take math and make it sound beautiful.

“What about you? What’s your passion?” She asks, tilting her head to the side a bit.

“Uh, well, this is going to sound incredibly cheesy? But helping people. Genuinely. It’s why I did the FBI,” he shrugs.

“So.. Solving problems others can’t solve on their own?”

“Yeah. I mean it goes back to my mom. She died because of a problem that doctors couldn’t solve, and she couldn’t solve. No one could. And I guess it translated to me that I could always try. That I should try, to help people who can’t help themselves. To do things for people who can’t do them for themselves. I’m new to it all, but I’m excited,” he looks at her, and she’s smiling outright at him.

“What?” He asks.

“You get all flustered when you talk about it. It’s how I know you must love it,” she says, quietly.

“I do. You light up when you talk about math, when you talk about how it holds the universe.”

“I want to be ruthless that way,” she states, and he gets it. He really does.

“You aren’t capable of being ruthless, Lydia. You’re too.. open and kind for that. But I promise you, the universe has nothing on you,” he insists.

“I’ll settle for being courageous then,” she sighs out.

“We’ll be courageous together. Chase our passions. The universe, math, helping people. We’ll be unstoppable,” he leans in and grabs her hand, squeezing it to emphasize his point.

“Unstoppable,” she whispers back.

It sounds like a promise.

\---------------------

Two weeks later, Brody is back in town. Stiles and Lydia assume their routine. Lydia doesn’t go to the police.

It’s two weeks after that when everything shifts on it’s axis.

It’s just past 2:30 am when there’s a frantic knock on the apartment door. Stiles is just about to yell out to Scott to go see who it is because his bedroom is closer to the door, when he remembers that Scott is currently over at Kira’s.

He lays there for a minute, waiting to see if they knock again, and they do. It’s louder this time. He considers ignoring, and then his phone lights up. It’s Lydia.

“Lydia, hey, what’s-” and before he can get out ‘wrong,’ he hears her sniff, and then she’s talking into the line in a broken sounding voice that’s quiet.

“Open the door,” is all she says, before she hangs up. He jumps out of his bed, not bothering with a shirt, and runs to the door clad in only gray sweatpants.

He yanks the door open, and there’s Lydia. And he goes rigid because there on her cheek, is a bruise that’s just starting to turn different hues of purple. He feels the anger flood his body fast and threatening. He’s never hit her face before. He’s never struck her this way.

She just stands in the hallway, waiting. He moves towards her to put his arm around her, and she flinches. He’s going to kill Brody.

Instead of focusing on all the ways he's going to bash Brody's skull in, he focuses on Lydia. “Hey, Lydia. Hey, it’s okay. Lydia look at me, it’s okay. I won’t hurt you, I swear to God.”

She finally looks up at him, and moves slightly forward, and nods.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” He asks because she's shaking, and he can’t handle her flinching away from him, when he would never hurt her. She nods, and he moves forward slowly. She tenses up when he settles his arm around her, but she doesn’t move away from him.

He walks her into the living room, and sits her down on the couch. He moves to grab the blanket off the chair next to the couch, and when he stands to wrap it around her, she flinches again, and then starts crying.

“Oh shit,” he murmurs because, what the fuck did Brody do to her? He stops, and holds the blanket for a minute. He kneels down in front of her, and offers it up without saying anything. She takes it, and tries a ‘thank you’ through the sobs currently wracking her body.

“Shhh, Lydia. It’s okay.”

She just nods, and keeps crying.

“Lydia you have to tell me what happened.”She shakes her head vehemently. “Lydia please. Please tell me,” he begs her quietly. He can hear his own voice wavering, and he wants to be strong for her, but this is downright agonizing.

Watching her fall to pieces this way, the way he has so many times before. Too many times before. She won’t leave Brody, even though she doesn’t love him anymore. And he’s so fucking angry and frustrated because this angelic creature sitting in front of him deserves so much more than Brody.

She takes a deep breath before starting, “I don’t really know what happened. One minute we were sitting on the couch, and the next he’s yelling at me about how I have no loyalty to him. How if I'm going to be unfaithful, I should just say it to his face. And I fought back because I had no idea what he meant. I mean, he’s never liked you, but you and I have never been anything more than friends,” he ignores the small stab of pain at her comment, “And I guess he thinks that I have feelings for you or something. It was all a blur, and then he hit me. And he threw things, and then he had my arm in a vice grip, and he threw me down, and he was going to… And if Danny hadn’t burst through the door…” she starts sobbing again.

“Jesus Lydia.. I…” he starts but she interrupts him.

“And the problem is, is that I _do_ have feelings for you. I don’t know what to do with them. I don’t know where to put them, and I can’t just leave Brody…”

Now it’s his turn to interrupt her, “Yes you absolutely can, Lydia. You can leave him,” he whispers to her, “Leave him and be with me,” he murmurs to her softly.

“Can we just pretend for tonight? Can we please pretend that I live here with you, and that this is our home? Please, Stiles?” She pleads with him, and she moves forward to bury her head in the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

He deflates because he knows she’s just hiding. She’s hiding and tomorrow she’ll go back to him, and Stiles will be left waiting and wondering if she’s going to be okay.

But he still holds her, just like always, and says, “Let’s go to bed, yeah? Come on,” He scoops her up, and she clings to him. She isn’t crying anymore. He lays her down on his bed, and he climbs in after her. She falls asleep instantly, curled into him, his arms wrapped around her.

He lays there for about an hour wondering how the hell he’s going to get Lydia to leave Brody. And wondering how long until Brody shows up at his door, wondering where Lydia is.

The fucked thing is, he wants Brody to show up here. He wants him to storm into the apartment so Stiles has a reason for murdering him. A solid reason like trespassing so he doesn’t end up in jail. Because he’s going to kill Brody either way, he’d just rather not be incarcerated over an asshole like him.

He can feels his pulse rising, and his fists clenching at his sides. He’s tense as hell. Stiles has been murderous approximately 2 times prior to this, but neither of those even comes close to how he feels in regards to Brody. It takes everything in him not to get up, and go beat the asshole right now. But Lydia’s next to him, and as if she can sense his anger in her sleep, she curls around him, easing the tension in his body.

  
\------------------------

  
He’s startled awake at 5:30 am by a loud banging on the door, and for a second he thinks it’s 3 hours prior and Lydia is out there. But he turns, and there she is, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Fuck,” is all he says, because it’s obviously Brody.

And if to further confirm that fact, they hear him shouting from outside the door.

“Lydia? Lydia I know you’re in there. Please baby, come out. Come home. I’m so sorry. If you come home with me now, I’ll forget all about this. You can’t keep running here to him, Lydia!”

Stiles and Lydia lay there, and he just watches her. Watches how her eyes change from tired, to sad, to angry, to empty. She hasn’t moved away from him, in fact she’s moved closer, nuzzling even more into his pillow, her grip tightening on his arm.

“Stilinski, send her out here! I swear to God!” Brody is still pounding on the door.

Stiles starts to get up, but it stopped by Lydia’s arms snaking around his torso. “No. Don’t answer it. Let him stand out there until he gets bored and leaves,” she pleads.

“No fucking way. I’m going to go kill him, and then call Scott to help me bury his body,” Stiles gets up from the bed, throwing on a t-shirt. He considers answering the door without a shirt on, but the truth of it is, he doesn’t want to fight Brody right now. Not in front of Lydia. He just wants Brody to get the fuck out of this apartment building.

He walks to the front door where Brody is still knocking and yelling. He opens it, and almost gets a fist to the face, but he moves out of the way just in time to avoid the punch Brody threw.

“The fuck?! No way in hell did you just come over to _my_  apartment, and then try to punch me when I opened the door,” Stiles fumes.

“She’s here. I know she is,” Brody starts trying to push his way into the apartment, but Stiles move in front of him. Brody isn’t tall. He’s about 3 inches shorter than Stiles, but he’s built. So while Stiles has speed and height, Brody has build and force.

“She isn't here, actually. But thank you so much for waking me up on a Sunday and 5-fucking-30 in the goddamned morning,” Stiles says loudly, and sarcastically trying to make sure that Lydia hears him, and hears him telling her _to stay where she is_.

“You're a fucking liar, and I will never understand why Lydia is so insistent on keeping you around, when all she does is tell me how annoying you are,” Brody spits out, and Stiles is seeing red. Not because he actually believes that Lydia calls him annoying, he’s sure she does, but because she does it to protect herself from this dickwad, and he’s _still_  hitting her.

“So that’s why you beat the shit out of her last night? Because I’m so annoying?” He sees the swing, but he doesn’t move this time. Let this asshole beat the shit out of him. Maybe he won’t have the energy to go after Lydia later.

The punch is solid, and it hurts like a motherfucker, but Stiles doesn’t grimace. He just takes it.

“Watch your fucking mouth, Stilinski,” he hears Brody growl from somewhere far away. And then he hears himself talking again.

“You’re worthless. Compensating for something by hitting your girlfriend. The seventh circle of hell is reserved for fuck ups like you,” Another punch.

“Hit me, Brody,” He does.

“C’mon! Fucking hit me like you mean it!” He really, really does.

Stiles is seeing stars, and they’re so fucking pretty and bright like Lydia’s eyes. And his head is throbbing, and his tongue feels thick, like he’s been holding it between his teeth. In some ways, he has.

“Fight back, Stilinski! C’mon, can’t be a bitch your whole life,” Brody says before kicking him in the stomach. How the hell did he end up on the floor?

“Why can’t I? That’s all you’ve been,” Another kick, and Stiles spits out some blood onto his new rug. Damn, Scott is going to kill him.

Speaking of, just as Brody is about to kick Stiles again, Scott walks in and practically tackles Brody.

Stiles can hear them scuffling a few feet away, but can’t do anything but lay there trying to breathe. His ribs are probably bruised, if they aren’t broken.

“Don’t fucking come back, Brody. I swear to God, I’ll kill you,” Stiles hears Scott saying in his voice that indicates that yes, Scott will in fact kill Brody. And kudos to Brody because it takes a lot to get Scott McCall murderous.

Not two seconds later, there are little hands cupping Stiles’ face, and he’s looking at Lydia. _'Fuck, she's so beautiful'_ , he thinks absently. His whole body hurts, his brain is on overload and all he wants to do is sleep.

“Stiles, you fucking idiot, keep your eyes open, okay? You have a concussion and I need you to stay awake,” she says softly to him. Her voice is soothing and Stiles, like always, clings to it.

“I didn’t know he could hit that hard,” he slurs out because he honestly didn’t know. He didn’t take time to asses the situation, he just wanted to keep Brody away from Lydia.

“Why in the hell did you do that? Why would you just let him beat you like that? Why didn’t you fight back?” She sounds like she’s crying, but she’s a little blurry so he can’t quite make out if she is.

Scott comes over and helps him up, slowly walking him to the couch, and the whole entire room is spinning out of control. He sits down, and the spinning stops slightly. Scott goes into the kitchen and grabs ice, placing it gently on Stiles’ head, and he winces because it’s cold and it _hurts_.

“Answer me, Stiles,” Lydia says sternly.

“I had to protect you,” he states simply.

“ _That_ was protecting me?!” She half screeches, and he winces.

“Jesus, Lydia, _ow._ And if it kept him away from you, then yeah, it was.”

His vision is a little clearer and he can see her eyes melt a little. He can see that she wants to lean into him, but she holds back. He doesn’t want her to. He wants to have her wrapped up in him.

“Thank you, Stiles. But you’re still an idiot, “ she says sweetly. He closes his eyes as she leans forward, careful not to jostle or touch him, and kisses his cheek.

“You are an idiot, dude. And you got blood on our new rug!” Scott exclaims and Stiles’ head throbs.

“You are talking entirely too loud right now, Scotty,” he murmurs out roughly.

“We should probably take you to the hospital,” Scott moves forward to lift Stiles up, and starts walking him towards the door.

“Wait, so I don’t even get a say in this?” Stiles groans because everything hurts.

“No. Because I don’t want to hear you complain for the next 5 hours. At least we can get you some painkillers to shut you up,” Scott says, looking at Stiles with a slight smirk on his face.

“Are you trying to get me to kiss you with your sarcasm and sass? Because it’s working. Should we make out? Postpone the hospital?” Stiles slurs out a little because now he’s feeling nauseous, and dizzy.

“I’ll only make out with you if you go to the hospital without being whiny about it,” Scott says.

Stiles nods once because talking hurts too much. But he has just enough out to garble out, “Lydia?” And she does what he would do for her in a heartbeat. She steps forward, leading the way down to Scott’s car.

 

3 hours, and a prescription for Tylenol III with Codeine later, they’re back at Scott and Stiles’ apartment.

Stiles can see clearly, and he isn't nauseous anymore. But his ribs still hurt, and he can’t take the codeine till noon. So he sits down on the couch, and Scott brings him another ice pack for his face.

He's holding the frozen peas to his face, and he feels the couch dip beside him. He can tell it’s Lydia even before she touches his arm lightly, but once she does, he leans into it. He craves her warmth and her touch. He wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her, and feel her. He just wants her, and he can’t have her.

She’s with Brody, and despite the fact that she’s openly admitted that she has feelings for him, he won’t be her second choice. She told him once that she didn’t love Brody, but she won’t leave him. And he can’t make her, he can only help her see that she’s strong enough to walk away. But even lovestruck Stiles isn’t daft enough to not know that sometimes it isn't enough.

“Stiles...” he turns his head towards her, and she’s pulling on her shirt hem, not looking at him. He doesn’t say anything, just waits for her to continue. “Stiles, what do you want from me?” She looks up at him, a hardness to her eyes.

His eyebrows go up, “What do you mean?” He asks.

“I mean what I said, what do you want from me? From this?”

“I want you to be happy,” he says, confusion laced in his voice.

“Nothing else. Just my happiness. You don’t want anything for yourself?” She sounds like she’s mad.

“I don’t really understand where you’re going with this, Lydia.”

“What do you _want,_ Stiles? From me! From us!” She half shouts.

“Why are you asking me this?” He responds, his voice hard because she’s accusing him of something, and he doesn’t know what it is.

“Why are you protecting me all the time? Why are you always just there when I need you? What is it that you want? What do you want from me? Because I don’t have much else to give, and I can’t… I don’t want to owe you Stiles, so if you want something, you have to tell me.”

She’s fierce, and he can’t even be mad at her. He can’t because he knows why she’s saying this. And it shreds him.

“Lydia,” he croons, and she looks at him, “I don’t.. I don’t want anything from you, that you aren’t willing to give me. Whatever that is. I _want_ to keep you safe because I’m selfish when it comes to you. But I don’t want anything from you, and you don’t owe me. You will never _owe_  me, Lydia.”

“Why?” She asks, and she’s crying.

“Oh, Lydia,” he sighs, “Because… ah, shit… Because I love you. And this is how I love you. How I’ll always love you.”

“I’m so scared, Stiles,” she sobs out.

“I know, but fuck Lydia, you’re a goddamned force to be reckoned with. I see it all the time. It moves through you, and when I get to witness it, it knocks me out. When you talk about math, and the universe. When I wake up, and you're still sleeping. I meant it when I said the universe has nothing on you. He took that from you, but fuck him, take it back. Take it _back,_  Lydia.”

He’s got his hands on her face now, the bag of frozen peas completely forgotten.

“I don’t know how,” she whispers.

“I know, I know,” he chokes out because somewhere along the way he started to tear up. “And I’m sorry I push you so hard about it, Lydia. I really am.”

He is. He’s so sorry because he knows that she doesn’t need that shit on top of everything else. But he has to know, and he’s going to hate himself for asking this question, but he has to.

"Lydia, what do you want from _me?_ ” He mumbles, hoping she heard him so he won’t have to repeat himself.

Her head snaps up from where she was staring at her hands, “What?”

He wants to disappear.

“What do I want from you?” Her voice is louder, and it’s got an edge to it. “Stiles I never asked for anything from you. You’re the one that offered.”

“Lyd.. I’m not saying that… I know I offered. But I need to know what you want from me going forward. Do you want me to just be your sanctuary, or is this going to change?” He feels like a selfish prick.

“Stiles, you know that I can’t give you anything right now.”

His heart sinks. “I know… I’m sorry. I shouldn't have pushed it.” He picks up the frozen peas again, and places them against his head, wincing.

He feels her hands over his, and soon she’s holding the peas against his head, with her chin on his shoulder. “No, please don’t be sorry. I know that this is hard for you, and you’ve been nothing short of incredible, but I need time. Please, please just give me some more time.” He feels her breath on his neck, and he wants to wake up to that all the time.

“Okay, Lyds. Whatever you want,” he murmurs and he slides one arm around her waist.

They sit on the couch like that, watching tv, and eating breakfast. Scott goes and takes a nap, and Lydia continues to bring ice bags. She helps him to the bathroom when he has to use it, and spends time fussing with his hair.

Noon rolls around, and he gets to take the good shit. He and Lydia move into his bedroom so he can sleep more comfortably. He makes Lydia promise that she isn’t going to leave the apartment until he’s coherent enough to say goodbye, and she promises she won’t. He passes out 20 minutes later, with her tucked into his side, and it makes him ache in places Brody never hit him.

 

The next time Stiles wakes up, his body is in absolute agony. “Holy fucking shit.” He groans before he can even open his eyes. “Please god let me die right here.”

“I’m not God, and you need to take some more painkillers. Sit up, tough guy.”  
Stiles hears Scott say, but he doesn’t want to sit up.

“Scott if I move, I’m going to die. Literally.”

“No you won’t, drama queen. If I hadn’t witnessed it, I wouldn’t believe you took the beating you did. More likely you fell down the stairs,” Scott remarks.

“Why must you kick me when I’m down?” Stiles bites out because jesus fucking christ, his chest hurts.

“If you spent as much energy trying to sit, as you did talking, you’d have sat up,” Scott retorts, even as he helps Stiles sit up. He hands him four Advil tablets and some water. Stiles sucks it down like a lifeline.

“Where’s Lydia?” Stiles asks.

“She’s making you something to eat in the kitchen. She hasn’t moved from this room since you laid down.” Scott says gently.

Stiles suddenly realizes how easy to read he is. He’s hit with the knowledge that it’s been plastered on his face since the first night Lydia showed up, that he’s in love with her. And while Lydia is fully aware that Stiles is in love with her, he feels a certain nagging, telling him to shield that part of him. He can hear in Scott’s tone that though his actions are admirable, he needs to tread lightly because Lydia is in a relationship, however fucked it is, and shows no signs of getting out of it. He chooses to ignore the nagging feeling.

Scott speaks to it anyway. “Dude... you know I love Lydia, but you... you have to take care of yourself too. And this, what you’re doing with her, it’s an edge dude. You’re standing right on that edge, and you’re going to fucking topple over it.”

“Scott, you’ve seen what he does to her. I can’t just ignore that. I can’t just let that happen,” He grits out because his chest is still on fire. Goddamn it; the Advil needs to just kick in already.

“I get that. But do you even understand what it’s doing to you? You’re taking on all the weight of not one person’s issues, but two people’s. You take on Lydia, you take on Brody. And I know you love her, I do. But you’re no good to her if you’re beaten to shit, mentally or physically or both. Please dude. Seriously think about this.” There’s a pleading edge to Scott’s voice.

“No. I don’t need to,” Stiles retorts stubbornly.

“Jesus fucking christ, dude! What happens when you burn out? What then? I’m not saying you shouldn’t be there for her, or support her, but you can’t take all this on your own,” Scott’s voice has raised a bit, and he’s pacing. A habit he no doubt picked up from Stiles.

“Scott seriously, shut the fuck up. She’s going to finish cooking, and she’s going to come in here, and she’s going to hear you. I get it dude. Okay? I fucking get it. Does this suck? Watching her go through this knowing no matter what I do, she’s not going to leave him until she’s ready, if she ever gets there? Yeah, it sucks. Tough shit for me then.”

He’s glaring at Scott because he doesn’t understand why Scott, nicest guy in the world, hero complex extraordinaire, can’t seem to understand why he doesn’t want to give up Lydia. Why he can’t just walk away.

“I’m not telling you to walk away from her. But you’re being a selfish prick if you think that watching you deteriorate is going to be any good for her, or me. Think about that, you goddamned asshole.”

And with that, Scott walks out of the room, nearly ramming into Lydia on the way out. Kudos to Stiles for getting Scott to swear more in the past five minutes than he probably has in his entire life.

“What was that about?” She asks, her eyebrows raised.

“Scott was trying to be my mother, and I politely told him to shove it. He didn’t like that.”

She shrugs. She has some soup in a bowl, and he realizes just how hungry he is. She sits next to him while he eats it. When he finishes, she goes and cleans the bowl. He sits there seething.

Who the fuck does Scott think he is? But then Stiles starts to think about what Scott said. And somewhere in his mind, Stiles knows Scott is right. He’s fading a little. He’s lost a little weight, and he doesn’t sleep even more than before because he’s constantly worried about Lydia. He registers that Scott is just worried about him not only as his friend, but as his brother. He knows that. But he can’t even imagine letting go of Lydia. He’s torn in a really horrible way.

He wants to feel like he’s capable of taking care of her. But then he thinks that maybe this isn't fair to him. That he shouldn’t have to take on this burden all on his own, or maybe not at all. He instantly feels like a shithead for thinking that. He wants to be strong enough to lift Lydia out from under Brody, and take her far away where she’s safe, and loves him back.

He’s not sure he’ll ever be strong enough. He’s not sure she’d go.

By the time Lydia comes back, Stiles is depressed and not in a talking mood. It concerns her, but he just says he’s tired.

When she leaves later that night, he walks her to the door despite the pain in his chest. He doesn’t hug her goodbye.

Two days later at 5:00pm, there’s a knock on the apartment door. Stiles hasn’t heard from Lydia, and even though it’s only been two days, he’s still worried. He’s texted her and called her, but she hasn’t responded. He knows better than to go over to her apartment.

He swings open the door, and there’s Lydia. With her bags. And her pillow. And the breath that was in Stiles’ lungs has been sucked out.

He can’t form a sentence because he is extremely sure that this is all a hallucination.

“I don’t know where else to go. I waited until he left to go out for the night. So I came here because I can’t… I'm fucking terrified but I think I’m ready to leave. I’m ready to go to the police I think. Lucky for us, he hit me again last night, and I have fresh bruises. And I want to come here. I’m not sure how much I can give to you, but I... want to try. I want to try with you.” She says all this in one breath, staring him right in the face the whole time.

“Lydia,” he breathes. She drops all her stuff and surges forward, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her face presses against his chest, and he can feel her tears leaking through his shirt.

“I’m sorry. For everything I’ve put you through. It wasn’t until the other day when Brody beat you half to death that I realized how much I want this with you. How much I- I think I…” she’s trying to get out love he realizes, and stops her.

“No. Don’t say that.” She shrinks away from his, but he holds her tighter. “You don’t owe me that Lydia. You can say it if and when you’re ready. Okay?” He feels her nod.

The take all her stuff inside. Scott is sitting in the living room. Stiles and Lydia clue him in on what’s happening, and he fully agrees.

4 days, and a lot of threats later, they’re at the police station. Lydia is pressing charges. She’s asked to show the bruises, the threats on her phone, and to give a statement. Stiles is required to give a statement, as well as Scott. After that all they can do is wait.

Two weeks later, and Lydia is living with Stiles and Scott. She hasn’t told him she loves him yet, but it’s there in her eyes. He touches her gently when he touches her. They haven’t kissed or fooled around. He’s okay with that because Lydia is still healing.

She goes to therapy once a week. Stiles goes with her.

The court date comes and goes. Brody gets bail, but the restraining order is in place effectively. 300 feet, and Brody gets his ass thrown in jail. Lydia buys a gun just in case. Things settle into ease. Brody doesn’t call or come over. Scott drove past the apartment and saw moving trucks, so they’re all hoping he decided to move far away.

Stiles also hopes he doesn’t because the next poor girl is going to be in for some serious shit. Honestly, fuck the system for letting him out on bail.

A month later sees Stiles and Lydia in his bedroom around 10:30pm. Scott and Kira are at her place, and it’s quiet in the apartment, but not uncomfortable.

They’re laying in his bed, her head on his chest, his hand stroking her hair.

“I love you,” She says so quietly, Stiles isn’t sure he actually heard her.

“I love you too,” he says back instantly, and he can feel her relax. He knows she just needs him to respond, and not make it about him. It isn’t about him. He’s known for awhile how she feels. She had to get there on her own.

She sits up, and moves over him. Now he tenses.

“Lydia, what are you doing?” His voice shakes because they still haven’t kissed beyond foreheads and cheeks. And he is not going to be held responsible for any reactions his body has to her proximity.

“I'm going to kiss you. And you’re going to kiss me back,” she says.

He just nods because he isn’t going to protest.

She leans down and brushes her lips against his, and it’s a live wire. His breath hitches, and his hands automatically slide to her hips. He can’t help it. He wants to feel her everywhere.

She presses her lips down against his, soft and insistent. Kissing should not feel this good. When she swipes her tongue against his lips, he opens up to her, and groans out loud. She licks into his mouth slow, and sensual.

“Touch me, Stiles,” she whispers into his mouth.

“You’re sure?” He rasps.

“Yes,” she sighs.

He gently flips them over, and stares at her for a second. She’s fucking beautiful. He leans down and kisses her. It’s slow, and tender. His tongue licks the roof of her mouth slow, and she lets out a whimper. He's got both his knees between her legs. He’s got himself propped up using one hand by her head. The other hand starts at her neck, his fingertips tracing down the column of her throat. Her hands thread through his hair.

He trails his lips across her cheek, and then down her neck following his fingers. He traces his fingers down her chest, over her breast, which causes her legs to come up and lock around his waist. He spreads his knees a little to brace himself better.

He moves his lips across her collarbone, and he can hear her breathing hitch. His hand moves over her torso, her hip, to her thigh. She’s all smooth skin, her shorts having ridden up. It makes him dizzy.

He moves his mouth back to her, and she bites his lips, sucking on it as he moves his hand back up her leg, under her shirt. She licks into his mouth. His thumb brushes the underside of her breast.

His heart is hammering so hard, and he can feel the familiar burning that comes with arousal. This is more intense. His whole body is on fire. And when he brushes against her nipple with the pad of his thumb, she grinds her hips against his in a movement that should be illegal. He groans into her mouth.

“Lydia...” he pleads. He doesn’t even know what for.

She does it again, and he starts sucking on her pulse point, and grinds his hips back, slightly. Testing.

“Don’t stop,” she pants out. He sits back and moves his hands to her waist. He begins moving them up, lifting her shirt up. She arches and it comes off. He takes his shirt off next.

He moves over her again, hands braced next to her head. He sucks her pulse point, and licks her throat, short kitten licks.

“Let me feel you,” she whispers out, voice ragged.

He lowers himself gently till his skin meets her skin. She’s warm and soft, and he could die here. He really could.

She starts moving her hips against his, and he’s simultaneously grateful he's only wearing sweatpants and her shorts are so thin, and frustrated because he wants to feel her. Feel her warm and wet and tight like he knows she is. He just knows. But he won’t push her.

So he starts grinding against her, a little harder than before. She’s breathing heavy. And he can’t help himself. He wants to kiss her everywhere, so he kisses down her throat, to her breast. He licks at her nipple, and she digs her nails into his shoulders.

He starts to suck on it, and she’s writhing underneath him.

“Stiles,” she moans, and it shoots straight to his dick because it’s so desperate. He sucks a little harder and then moves to her other nipple.

“You’re so soft, Lydia. You’re fucking unreal. I’m never going to have enough,” he whispers against her breast.

One of his hands moves down to grip her right where her thigh and hip meet. His hand fisting the material of her shorts. She’s too distracted to keep grinding against him, which is a good thing for him because he was going to explode.

He starts kissing down her body, laving his tongue over the places he kisses. He reaches the waistband of her shorts, and kisses across her hips.

“Take them off,” she pants.

He grips the material and slides them down her legs, completely encapsulated by her. After her shorts are discarded, he runs his hands up her legs, feeling how smooth her skin is. It’s making his head swim.

“Jesus fucking christ, Lydia. You’re so perfect,” he says reverently.

“Make love to me, Stiles,” She says, looking at him. There’s sincerity in her eyes, and he can’t quite believe it’s there. It’s this warm, open look of adoration, and he isn’t sure if it’s her looking at him, or if it’s his reflection in her eyes staring back at him. He wants to tell her how proud he is of her, how much he loves her, and adores her. He wants, needs, her to know that she is his world rotating on an axis that’s going a million miles an hour, and slow enough that he can see all the stars.

But he just nods because he doesn’t know how to tell her. So he’s going to show her.

He gets off their bed long enough to remove his sweatpants, and grab a condom.

When he climbs back over her, she wraps her legs around him. And he can feel the heat coming from her. She grabs his biceps, and leans up to kiss him. Where their kisses earlier were exploring, this one is hot. Her tongue runs over his lip, and then into his mouth. She draws his tongue into her mouth, and sucks on it slightly.

He groans out loud. He slides a hand down her body until he reaches the apex of her thighs. He rubs lightly on her clit, and he moans outright.

“I’m gonna take care of you, pretty girl. Gonna be so good to you,” he murmurs against her lips. He slides a finger into her, and she’s hot and wet and tight just like he knew she would be.

“Goddamn, Lydia. Aw fuck, this is incredible.” He pumps his finger in and out of her. He moves his lips to her throat, giving it kitten licks.

He bites down gently on her pulse point, and slides another finger inside of her.

“Oh, _yes,_ ” she moans.

He pumps his fingers, grazing her G spot, his thumb on her clit.

“Stiles now, I need you now. Please,” she begs.

He pulls away from her throat, and sits up. He rolls the condom on, and slots himself between her legs. She runs her slit over his dick, and he can’t help the grunt that comes out of his chest because fuck, that felt good and he isn’t even inside of her yet.

“Are you sure Lydia?” He asks looking directly into her eyes.

“I’m sure.” She says, resolutely.

He kisses her again, but pulls away as he eases himself into her. She takes him inch by inch, and it’s _glorious_.

When he’s fully inside of her, he goes down to his forearms, and starts to thrust into her, nice and slow.

“Faster, please,” she breathes.

“Take it like this, pretty girl. It’s gonna feel so good.” Her starts moving just a little faster, making sure to rub his hips against her clit to give it friction.

She starts pulsing around him, and it’s feels like fucking heaven. He says just that.

“You feel like fucking heaven, oh shit.” She pulses around him again, “Fuck, oh fuck Lydia. Yes. That’s too good. Too good,” he’s panting.

“You take me so good, Stiles,” she got her nails in his back, her legs locked around his waist. He reaches back with one arm and grips her thigh.

“Look at me, Lydia.” She looks at him, green eyes full of lust and reverence. It makes what he says next all the more easier to say.

“I fucking love you.” He snaps his hips against her, making her cry out.

“I love you.” He snaps his hips again. He can tell he's hitting her just right, because the pulsing around him has become more erratic.

He snaps his hips into her one more time, grinding just right, “I love you,” her eyes roll back and she comes, her nails scratching down his back.

She’s so hot and tight. She’s wet and he can feel her orgasm rocket through him, and it sends him over into his own.

They come down slowly. Once he can breathe again, he rolls off of her, and disposes of the condom. He grabs some tissue and cleans them up a little bit.

She curls into him, and they lay there with her pressed against him, her lips pacing soft kisses against his neck.

“When did you get so brave?” He asks. Because this was brave of her, to give herself like that.

“You make me brave. I love you,” She says it with such conviction, that it erases any doubt he had in his head.

He covers them with the comforter they have, and they fall asleep.

\-----------------------------

1 year later;

If you had asked Stiles if he would be engaged to Lydia Martin, living in an apartment downtown in Boston with her, a year ago, he would’ve punched you for making such a cruel joke.

Now, well now, he’s engaged to Lydia Martin, and living in an apartment in downtown Boston with her.

She’s still going to therapy, and there are still nights when she can’t be present with him. Where she drifts away, but she always finds her way back to him. And she’s healing everyday. That’s enough.

She's taken to teaching him quantum physics, or least trying to. He watches her more than he pays attention. Watches how her mouth quirks, and her hands move. She breathes life into, and he wants to learn, he swears, but he can't. Not with her sitting there, looking invincible. He gets lost in her when they make love. She brings him down to earth again when he can't breathe in the middle of the night.

He talks about work, and how he's finally making head way on a case that's been eating at him. She listens, and reminds him he's doing the best that he can. 

She feels safe, and that’s all he wants for her. They haven’t heard from Brody since. Life is good.

They make each other brave.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! It means so much to me. I hope this was okay. 
> 
> Leave comments telling me what you think, and kudos make me smile(:
> 
> And if you ever wanna talk about Stydia or other various things, I'm impvlsivee on Tumblr!


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